Darling Cigarettes
by imaginativefiction
Summary: The mysterious violin player fancies a chat with you on a cold winter's night.


_Darling Cigarettes_

You were sitting outside Speedy's Cafe, enjoying a cigarette whilst watching the snow gently drift to the cold tarmac. The snow was beautiful, yet brought with it a bitter cold that penetrated to the very marrow of your bones. Pulling your thin and well-worn coat tighter across your waist, you shivered and stamped your feet in an attempt to circulate a little bit of warmth. Your toes tingled and so you wiggled them in your boots, leaning against the thick glass window whilst inhaling your cigarette deeply. You blew out a thin, wispy cloud of smoke and sighed in content. It was nice to be able to hear yourself think for once, instead of having your thoughts intruded by the rowdy noises of London during the day.

But you were never the only one awake at this time. A strange man who lived in the block of flats to your right would always stand by the window and play a mournful tune on the violin. The sound resonated gracefully through the night, carried by the soft winds, and entranced you. You never really saw anything of the man and didn't expect to. It was the same again tonight and you listened to him play as a small smile crept onto your face. You closed your eyes and leaned back, allowing the woeful melody to captivate you. It never bothered you when the cold nipped at your fingers and turned them blue, so long as you had a cigarette and the mysterious violin player.

When the violin eventually stopped, that was when you decided to leave. You dropped your burnt out cigarette to the ground and extinguished the fading light with your boot, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your coat. Strangely, you heard a door open and craned your neck to see a tall man appearing from a flat, turning up the collar of the long, navy overcoat he wore as he strode out, pulling the door firmly shut behind him. You thought it would look extremely weird if he caught you just standing outside a closed cafe, so you fumbled with your cheap lighter and lit another cigarette whilst diverting your gaze to the inky night sky. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of a distinct mop of unruly dark curls and wondered if that was your violin player.

A pair of footsteps stopped abruptly.

"Smoking. Very bad for your health, you know. Unwise."

Startled, you glanced up with your cigarette dangling out of your mouth. You nearly took a double take when you saw the man was standing in front of you because _goddamn _he was attractive. His facial features were certainly sharp, with high cheekbones that you were sure could cut you if you were to touch them and a slightly elongated nose with a thin cupid-shaped mouth. His ice-blue eyes were an astonishing contrast to the dark colours he wore, scrutinizing you with a quick sweep that made your skin burn more than the cold did. The man's beautiful curls sat perfectly across his forehead and you wanted nothing more than to tangle your fingers in them.

You smiled coyly.

"Care to join me?"

You offered him the slightly battered box of cigarettes. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at you, then reached out with his spidery fingers to pluck one from it's confines. You noticed your precious supply of cigarettes was beginning to dwindle. You'd have to buy more, soon. As he placed the thin white stick delicately between his lips, you fumbled in your pockets for a brief moment before offering him your lighter.

"Thank you." He took it from you, lightly touching your bitterly cold hands. You envied the warmth he radiated.

"Why did you stop playing? I was rather enjoying it." You said with a shy smile, tapping your cigarette to get rid of the steady build up of ash.

"Fancied a chat with an art student." He kept his gaze fixed on the silent road ahead. A very faint, barely detectable smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he released tiny tendrils of smoke from his mouth.

You furrowed your eyebrows. "...How did you, uh...D-do I have a stalker?" You stumbled over your words foolishly, a light pink blush dusting your cheeks.

"Ah, so I was correct." He said. "And no, it's merely an observation. I've only just met you."

"Who are you?" You asked, tilting your head.

He turned and held out his hand. "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."

You shook his hand, holding on for maybe a fraction of a second too long. "I didn't know that was a thing."

"It isn't. I invented the job." He answered, watching as you dropped your hand to your side.

"Consulting detective..." You trailed off, distracted by his annoyingly attractive manner of smoking. It was nothing different to what you did, but he did it with such ease and grace. The way he held the cigarette firmly between those enchanting fingers, lifting it to his mouth and inhaling deeply with a rise of his broad chest. He exhaled slowly as his eyes closed and you watched the smoke swirl carelessly in the wind. You had never seen someone so relaxed by a single cigarette. You blinked, snapping out of your reverie. "What does that entail?"

"I help the police when they're out of their depth, which is always." He replied with sigh.

You nodded. "I see. Got any serial killers on the go?"

"Unfortunately not. I'm hoping one will make themselves known; a man gets bored."

You laughed and said "You are a strange one, you are."

"And you are freezing." He commented, eyeing you as you shivered.

"I can see why they hired you. Your observational skills are through the roof." You replied sarcastically.

He swiftly took his long coat off and draped it around your shoulders. "Is that all right?" He asked, now clad in only his suit trousers and a purple shirt which was so tight it made the buttons strain.

The heavy weight of the coat comforted you, along with the heat it provided. On him, it fitted nicely and ended around his mid-calf; on you, it ended past your ankles and completely swamped you. The cuffs covered your knuckles, reminding you of your own tattered coat. Sherlock's coat smelt so nice it was a struggle to restrain yourself from breathing his scent in deeply. It was some kind of expensive aftershave mixed with coffee and other chemicals you faintly recognised from your time in school.

"Thank you." You smiled, the collar concealing your blush slightly. "I'd hate for you to get cold too, though."

"The cold doesn't particularly bother me." He said in his mouth-watering baritone voice. "And my elder brother Mycroft is harassing me about minding my manners. I suppose this is a good start, is it not?"

"You seem very polite to me, Sherlock." You said. It felt nice to say his name.

He stared at you for a moment. "That's not what people usually say."

"And what do people usually say?"

"Fuck off."

You were silent. Then you suddenly burst out laughing, taking him by surprise. You threw your head back, clutching your sides comically whilst he watched with a curious expression on his face. The sounds of your laughter echoed through the streets and you didn't care whether or not anybody could hear it. Sherlock chuckled quietly with you, a genuine smile gracing his angelic features. You nearly lost your balance but he caught you just before you toppled over. You leaned on him, wiping away your joyful tears as you calmed down.

"I nearly pissed myself." You said, then started laughing all over again at your own crude comment.

He didn't answer, which made you feel like you were talking to yourself. You looked up, about to voice that thought, but his gaze caught you off guard. He was staring at you, not in a creepy way, but in a way that made your heart flutter and your insides flip. You became aware of his large hands which were lightly perched on your waist, his touch spreading a wild blush across your face.

"You have a beautiful laugh." He said softly, using one of his hands to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You shivered, but not due to the cold. "T-thank you." You replied, nibbling your bottom lip slightly. Was your violin player about to kiss you? It certainly seemed so.

And he did.

He connected his lips with yours in a gentle touch, causing your skin to tingle in anticipation. The touch, however small, spread warmth throughout you and you sighed lightly in content. His lips moved agonisingly slowly, catching your bottom lip and biting gently as you reached up to twirl a few of his dark curls around your fingers. Although you wanted to give in more than anything, you weren't particularly experienced in this area and thought it wise to stop before it went too far, especially since the both of you were strangers to each other. He took notice of your hesitation and stopped immediately, but remained close to you.

"I do apologise. Perhaps this is too soon." He spoke in a low, alluring tone. It took every fibre of your being to restrain yourself from pouncing on him at that moment.

"P-perhaps." You breathed, removing your fingers from his luscious locks. Waves of disappointment crashed around you.

"Would you allow me to take you out for coffee tomorrow?" He asked, standing up straight and tucking his hands into his pockets.

"Of course!" You grinned. "Well, if I don't get brutally murdered as I walk home."

"You won't be going alone." He said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I thought you'd love for me to get sliced up by a serial killer. Makes for a good case, eh?" You laughed and nudged him gently.

"Well I think I've found something I prefer a little more than serial killers." He said with a sly wink.

* * *

Bit of a shitty ending, if you ask me. But hey, it's quite late over here so there's not much I can do about it. It's strange how I write substantially better at night. Thank you very much for reading! Pleeeaaase R&R, I'd appreciate it very much. Constructive criticism is always welcome of course, so hit me with it. Don't be too cruel, though.

Anyway, that's all I have to say. Bye, lovelies!


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